Note: This chapter contains mention of rape. Please do not read if this is something that makes you uncomfortable or may trigger any unpleasant memories for you.
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***
April
After returning from Mexico our marriage seemed to be functioning better than ever. As much as I'd like to say we accomplished that step on our own it really was because of Dr. Owen. Shane started seeing the good doctor on a weekly basis like I was, one session alone and one couple's session together. We discussed, sometimes we yelled, on a few occasions I cried -- but more importantly we continued talking when we were home. On my part I did indeed take over when we got back home; I made sure I was home from the library or study group in time to have dinner with my husband, and by eight each night my books were tucked away so we could spend time together.
That was a significant issue that came up in one of our appointments -- Shane felt as if I wasn't making our marriage a priority therefore he didn't feel comfortable confiding in me when he really needed to. I felt horrible he felt that way, even more so because it wasn't the first time he'd felt that way in our relationship. I immediately made it my mission to turn it around. Sure, we still argued. Instead of bottling everything up we attempted to yell less and listen more. It was hard, some days it was
really
hard, but we were working toward becoming a semi-functioning couple who took some time to actually have
fun
with each other. Every day it got a little easier.
Another Friday night and I had just switched the oven off, letting the lasagna cool in its pan on top of the stove as I leaned over the countertop to finish logging in my planner. The jingle of my phone ringing interrupted my thought process but any irritation I felt quickly faded when I saw it was Shane. I picked up giddily. "Are you really calling me right now?"
There was a cacophony in the background of boos and jeers about him being whipped while he laughed. "Trust me sweetheart, I'm not missin' anything. I've been to enough strip clubs to last a lifetime."
"Oh good, that's what every wife likes to hear," I teased. Shane's friend and former fellow fighter Vincent was getting married the following evening, choosing the night before to engage in some last minute debauchery. Shane was less than enthused about attending. "You have to be the only man alive who complains about going to a bachelor party. Most married guys would kill to be where you are right now."
"Those men aren't married to your fine ass. I was just checkin' in. How was your doctor's appointment?"
I couldn't help but smile. In fact, I hadn't stopped smiling since I got home. "It was good. Um, I'll tell you about it when you get home."
"Okay darlin', but it'll probably be late...shut up asshole, I'm comin'!" he yelled at one of his friends, "I gotta go, I love you. Let's have a date tomorrow afternoon before the wedding, okay?"
"You got it, Mr. Thomas. I love you too." He hung up and I followed suit, getting back to my calendar. I skipped ahead to the end of the year and circled a very important date before closing the notebook and settling in for the night.
***
The stench of scotch and cigar smoke assaulted my nose in the worst way the next morning, making my stomach queasy. Sitting up groggily I surveyed the room for the offensive odor and discovered the source was my husband straight passed out in our bed. I tried not to laugh at his disheveled appearance but it was hard not to; his black shirt was only halfway tucked in his pants and his dark clothes were covered in glitter and strong perfume. He hadn't even bothered to take his shoes off. I grabbed my phone from beneath my pillow and snapped a picture before rolling out of bed to get dressed. After I dolled up in jeans and a plain black tee-shirt I set some painkillers and a glass of water on his bedside table, kissing his forehead and heading downstairs.
If I thought Shane was in bad shape, I wasn't prepared for the six other half-naked firefighters taking up space in our living room.
Greg and Paul were asleep at opposite ends of our couch. Robert was face down in the middle of the floor while Chris was passed out at the dining room table, his head resting on his arms. Vincent and Sam were shirtless and pretty much spooning next to the fireplace. Austin tiptoed between the men looking confused.
Yeah, I know buddy, me too.
I snapped a few more pictures, figuring a little extra blackmail couldn't hurt. I sent the one of Sam and Vincent to someone I knew would fully appreciate it, slipping on my flip flops, grabbing my sweater and keys on the way out the door.
I sat in my car idling while I called the local coffee shop, offering to pay an exorbitant amount of money to have coffee and breakfast sandwiches delivered to the men in my house who were going to have one hell of a hangover. I was about to back out of the dirt driveway when my phone rang. I grabbed it and stated immediately "Men are ridiculous."
"You lucky bitch," the hoarse voice answered, "Do you know how many women would kill to wake up to a house full of hot naked firefighters? You do not deserve such a glorious life."
As always, Sydney made a good point. "Are you still coming to the ceremony with Sam tonight? I was thinking of a spa day this afternoon if you're interested, my treat."
"Oh, shit. I forgot that was tonight. No, I'm...sick."
"You don't sound sick." She was oddly silent which was really out of the ordinary for her. "Hey Syd, what's wrong?"
"N-nothing, I..."
I heard what sounded like a sob and I kicked into high gear. "I'll be there in twenty minutes." Peeling out of the driveway and down the street I drove like a bat out of hell to get to my best friend."
***
"Oh my God,
Sydney
."
After pounding on her door for five minutes she finally answered and the sight of her made me want to cry, and then murder someone. The swollen, bloody left eye and black bruises on her face and neck made my heart wrench painfully. She waved me into the apartment her and Sam shared, which was a mess of shattered glass, papers and clothes and tissues. She stopped in the middle of the living room and took a large swig out of a chardonnay bottle. "What the hell happened?"
She started to explain, then changed her mind and shook her head. "Jeremy, he...it's been handled."
"Is he still breathing? Because if he is it hasn't been fucking handled." She took a step back from me and looked me dead in the eye. I recognized the look. It was the
I don't want to talk about it, please don't make me
look. The embarrassed look. The look of shame. I worked on calming my voice. "Have you gone to the police?"
